The Girl in Green
by Jayeliwood
Summary: 3 years after the fall Sherlock returns to London, feeling himself a hero. He wants and expects things to go back to the way they were before but that might not be possible when Sherlock discovers John has a new flat mate, an American woman by the name of Mary who has a rather shady past. He must learn to deal with her and John's new attitude to boot. Sometimes tensions boil over.


**So, I did a thing and here it is. Check it out.**

It had been three years since Sherlock had laid eyes on London. His entire world had changed in that time. Moriarty was dead. Well and truly this time around. He made sure of it this time. He put a stake through his heart. A literal one made of rusted twisted steal.

The Woman was dead as well. Irene Adler. She was his ticket to going after Moriarty after his "death". Sherlock found great pleasure in her company, though it wasn't the same as John. She had helped him. She had loved him, despite herself. And for her troubles she was killed, Sherlock's name dying on her lips as she bled out on the floor of some dark cave somewhere in the middle east. He made sure Jim knew her pain.

He had grown darker during his after life. He had gone off the map and he had to hurt all the people that he loved... he never realized how much he needed them in his life. How they made things better. He was utterly useless without John. Well, not utterly. But it just wasn't the same. Even Mrs. Hudson and Molly, they made a difference.

Sherlock stood in front of the old flat after he made sure Mrs. Hudson was gone for her afternoon shopping. He felt an overwhelming feeling of hope. He was practically giddy, or at least his version of the emotion.

Not surprisingly they had not changed the locks in the time that was gone. He slipped in easily with his old key and climbed the stares to the apartment. He even enjoyed the sound of the stares as they creaked underneath his feet.

It was so different than it had been before. It was clean, almost overly so. The wallpaper was different, a darker pattern. As were the rugs. There were lacy curtains on the windows and flowers on the table. There was even a special spot for mail now and pens. They hadn't had that before.

He picked up a pile of mail and sorted through it quickly. Electricity bill, due in three weeks. Water as well. Some medical magazine for John. And a pay stub from the City of London police. Decent pay, it was for a M.E. It wasn't a surprising jump for John. It was a good fit, if not a bit boring for Sherlock's tastes.

Watson's room was just the same, neat as a pin. Always the military man. Sherlock's room was what was completely different. His wrought iron bed was made up with a lacy white eyelet lace, which certainly wasn't his. There were woman's clothes in the closet. A rather random mix of professional and extremely casual, but almost all of the clothing wasn't high fashion or feminine in the least. She didn't care about her appearance and was a bit of a tomboy. The woman that lived with John now, obviously a roommate and not a lover. Both rooms had signs of being lived in regularly. She had a gun in her dresser drawer but it was in a locked case. On her dresser was a pay stub from The City of London police as well. So, she was a police officer. Most likely a detective, especially if she had a personal side arm. He looked around the room for some personal pictures but there were none, only a board with her drawings. So, not very close to anyone. No real friends or family. She draws to fill her time. She draws people mainly, she's lonely. Most of the people are sad in the drawing. Not an entirely cheerful person.

He glanced at his watch and decided to leave before Mrs. Hudson finished her regular shopping. Sherlock stopped at the door and glanced around the apartment. Yes, it was different but he was coming home. He had won and his friends were safe. The girl, whoever she was, would just have find somewhere else to go.

For the next two days he watched the apartment as the people who lived on the inside came and went. Mrs Hudson with her afternoon shopping, she was having an affair with the butcher down the street. He was unmarried and he seemed to make her happy. And he was a fair butcher that never cheated anyone.

John worked as 9 to 5 as he could. He walked tall, straight, and proud to the curb each day before waving for a cab. He never really looked truly happy to go to work but he did seem pleased to come home.

The girl was different though. She worked all hours. She had her own car, a well loved black four door. Obviously not owned by her for very long. Probably bought in the past year, if the plates were correct. Each day she wore black trousers and a t-shirt, usually something with words or pictures on it, with a buttoned blazer. On her feet she wore a pair of green converse all stars. She cared more about comfort than fashion or professionalism. She did what she had to get by. She was a rule bender, if not breaker.

Also, he noticed, that she was having trouble driving around London. In fact, she was driving on the wrong side of the road half the time, especially the later she was coming or going. So, she was American.

This Mary Morstan was an interesting one.

She wasn't unattractive. Short, yes, with a very curvy figure that she tried to hide with an unattractive blazer. There was no doubt that with naturally blond hair and large breasts it wasn't easy to be taken seriously by the police. She didn't care about her appearance, but she did want to be taken seriously. She could have colored her hair, but that would take more maintenance than she was willing to do.

He watched from the window from the empty apartment across the street as John was leaving for the day and Mary was coming in from working a very late night on the third morning. He embraced her fondly and smiled at her brightly as if he was overjoyed to see her. She acted close to the same, but hers was muted from being tired. He had his hand on her hip and she had her hands on his shoulder. They didn't care about personal space, so they were close. Friends? John blushed as the girl said something and she giggled, looking up at him pleasantly. She said something and he nodded, giving her a kiss on the cheek. She gave him her keys so that he could drive to work instead of hailing a cab.

Once again Sherlock waited for Mrs. Hudson to be gone, he wasn't ready to see her just yet. Not before John anyway. But, he walked across the street and made his way to his old flat with his trusty key. He could hear movement inside, music playing in the background.

She was a trained officer with a weapon so he decided to knock rather than just going in. I didn't want to be shot. The fall, despite surviving it, had done some damage and he certainly didn't need anymore. The headaches were almost too much to handle sometimes.

"Mrs. Hudson, is that you already?" A very soft sing song voice came from the hallway. "I thought you'd be longer-" she said as she opened the door, her mouth dropped open in surprise. She was dressed in a tank top, no bra, and sleep short. Green socks came just above her knees, matching the barely ass covering garments. Her long blond hair was down in a curly mass around her entire head. She was freshly showered but her hair was naturally dried, most likely having bathed two to three hours before.

"Obviously, I am not Mrs. Hudson," He replied dryly.

"No, obviously," the girl drew out with a bit of an accent. American, southern. Some French and Spanish tones. Cajun. "No, you're Sherlock Holmes and I was wondering when you were going to stop snooping around and show yourself."

This pulled him up short. The girl just smiled. "I do not snoop."

"Mm, you did. Two days ago. Between 2 and 3 in the afternoon. You looked through John's mail and my closet. So, please come in. Don't worry, I haven't told John."

"Oh, how gracious of you," not believing her bravado, but she certainly didn't seem surprised to see him in the least and she did have the timing right. Sherlock didn't think she knew much more than she was telling.

"Not gracious. I just know what he going to do when he finds out," she looked at him very seriously. She took a step back and allowed him into the living room without a fight. "Please, come in, Mr Holmes."

"Please, call me Sherlock. You are sleeping in my bed after all."

He looked her over, picking up on her every little detail. She was a social smoker, not regularly. No more than a couple of cigarettes a week. Only child. Right handed. Early thirties. Intelligent, multiple degrees and perhaps military training. Well muscled, thin waist. She worked out daily but she also enjoyed eating- her breast and thighs hadn't gone away from lack of fat in her diet. She bit her bottom lip out of habit, perhaps a habit she picked up when she had a retainer as a teenager. Contacts, naturally hazel green brown eyes. She wore contacts at work and glasses when she was home, preferring them. She hadn't taken them out for the day yet. Most likely she'd do it right before she went to bed.

"I take it you'll be wanting that back," she sighed as she walked back towards the kitchen table. Wordlessly she went to the coffee maker and poured a cup, placing two cubes of sugar into the steaming mixture. She offered it to him, looking directly into his eyes. "Do you mind if I sit? I'm famished. I need to eat something or I'll never sleep. Though, I very highly doubt I'll get any sleep today," she said almost dully.

"I very much doubt your presence will be needed. Sleep shouldn't be a problem."

"I'll be up for John if he needs me," she countered as she sat down. She pushed the other chair back from the table, offering it up to him. "So, got them, I take it?"

"And who is 'them'?"

"Moriarty and Moran."

She said nothing else. Interesting.

"Who brought you in?" Sherlock asked very seriously. "All the way from America. What you do must be newsworthy."

"Your brother," she smiled kindly. "He... _sought..._ me out. I was working for the FBI at the time. He said that there was a job here for me if I wanted it. A good one. Said I was wasted in the colonies."

" Of course. Were you looking for me?" He asked her levelly, thinking about what Mycroft now knew and what he had told anyone.

"No. Just Moriarty. Or, his ghost. Obviously his network wasn't so small. He was a genius but genius only get you so far. He can't _know_ everything. He couldn't _do_ everything. He needed a partner. A straight man. The muscle behind the flaming flair," she snapped her fingers for a dramatic dash. "He was a diva. He didn't deal with the little details."

_Yes, that was Jim_, Holmes thought but he didn't not betray it. She was laying her cards down on the table for some reason. A peace offering. She wanted to show that she meant no harm. Sherlock didn't quite understand why. He decided to ignore it, for now anyway.

"So, Mycroft knows I'm alive. Not surprised. More surprised he didn't interfere."

"Who says he didn't?" She asked through a bite of apple. On her plate was a half sliced avocado, sliced tomatoes, cucumbers, eggs sunny side up, along with a diced up apple and toast. She was having milk to drink. "He didn't tell John, to keep him safe. He didn't talk to you to keep you safe. He does care about you, even if he is an ass about it," Mary said thoughtfully.

"How did you become John's roommate. Mycroft?" He asked her, watching her reaction with steepled fingers in front of his lips. Would his brother go so far to arrange for John to have a personal protector? Yes, if that meant keeping his brother safe.

"No," she smiled, picking up a piece of the tomato with her fingers. "No, after I finished my job for your brother I was offered a more permanent role with police here. Mycroft's doing so he could have me close by if he needed me again. I could no longer afford to stay in a hotel anymore. I had become friends John during my work and he needed a roommate. Actually, he didn't need one. He wanted one. Big difference." She ate the tomato, thinking over her words before speaking again. "You broke his heart."

"John is a strong man."

"You can break strong men," she picked up her fork and broke the yolks of the eggs, swirling around the golden liquid. "John... he's never gotten over your death. And he's been so angry, so sad, for so long. Do you know what you're doing? Coming into his life like this again?"

This was not the conversation Holmes was expecting to have. He found himself liking this Mary, perhaps a bit. She had enough knowledge to be entertaining and was feisty. He could see why John was attracted to her. But, he didn't like the question.

"I will just explain to John what happened and why I did what I did. It was necessary. He will see that. It's only logical. John will forgive me. As will Mrs. Hudson."

"Mrs Hudson will without a doubt. But that's her. John... oh, Mr. Holmes," she shook her head, looking up a bit sadly. "Sherlock, you've done a number."

"And what number is that?"

"Ah, don't be clever. You know what I mean very well. You're not a machine, as much as you pretend to be. You have a heart. I can see it already, even though you're trying to hide it between sarcasm and fake confidence. Logic? You may have it. But John won't see it that way. John isn't logic. He's heart. He's emotion. He's hormones. He's going to beat your ass."

He smiled and rolled my eyes at her crass response. "He won't."

"Oh, I'll bet you a fiver," she put a piece of egg to her mouth and chewed slowly. "I bet he'll punch you at least twice."

Sherlock pulled a five pound note from his pocket and waved it at her. She smiled, nodding her head. "Very nice, Mr. Holmes. Are you just going to wait for John to arrive back from work?" She looked at the clock. "You've got three hours."

"Mm, I do," He glanced back in the living room. "I don't mind waiting."

She ate in silence after that before taking her plate to the kitchen sink. She washed it and put it into the drain, also a naturally clean person. She finally turned her attention back towards Sherlock as if she just remembered that he was there. "Your things are all in the attic. Everything. John and Mrs Hudson couldn't bring themselves to get rid of a thing. I'm sure there are things you want from the boxes if you wish to go through them. I, myself, am exhausted. I'm going to sleep a bit before John gets home. Shall I pretend that I knew nothing of your return?"

"It would most likely be for the best."

"I will tell him one day. I don't like lying to John. I'm under a contract to Mycroft for my silence, but now that has changed." She walked to the bedroom that use to be his and would be his again. She put her hand on the knob before she turned to look back at Holmes. "I wouldn't lie to John either, if I were you. He needs honesty if he's ever going to trust you again."

With that she slipped inside the bedroom and shut the door, not bothering to lock it. _She had no fear of Sherlock Holmes,_ he thought. She knew that he knew that she had a gun. She also knew that he knew that she would fire if she felt she needed to do so.

Holmes pulled a book from the shelf and sat down in the oversized lounge chair he had claimed as his own when he had lived there. He would wait, patiently and calmly for John to arrive back from work. No, he wasn't bored now. That was certain. No, his mind was a flutter with all the possibility of the future. There were a million possibilities now. Well, not a million. But there was one thing was certain... he was going to get his blogger back.

It was five o'clock on the dot when Watson pulled up to the flat. Mrs. Hudson had stayed out with her butcher longer than normal and the only other person around was the supposedly sleeping Mary. He stamped up the stairs loudly, tired obviously. He didn't even try the lock. He knew it would be unlocked with Mary around. Sherlock smiled to himself excitedly before he concealed his expression.

John was quiet once he was inside though, knowing that Mary was suppose to be asleep. He went into the kitchen without even seeing Sherlock and went straight to the fridge. He poured himself some juice, drinking it standing up before leaning against the counter and closing his eyes.

Sherlock stood from his chair and eyed his best friend carefully when he knew he wasn't watching. There were tired circles underneath his eyes. He wasn't sleeping well. He was thinner and perhaps more muscled than before. He hadn't been eating like he should and he had started to work out to help with relieving stress. It had done him some good. It made him a bit younger, stronger. His tan was completely gone though.

"You are looking healthy," Sherlock said to the closed eyed Watson.

"Thank you," John said mindlessly before his eyes snapped open. When he saw Sherlock his glass dropped to the floor, surprisingly not becoming a million tiny shards of glass. Instead it just rolled, bumping into John's work loafers. "Oh, God. Not again."

Sherlock took a step forward. "John, my friend."

"No. You're not real. You're just a figment of my imagination. I'm just tired. I'm going to bed," John said in an uncomfortable, almost too high pitch of a voice. "I've lost it. Finally."

"No, John," Sherlock laughed, walking quickly into the kitchen. He stooped down so he could pick up the glass and hand it back to John. He offered it up, almost pleased with himself. "I'm back now."

"You're... not, You're not dead?" John questioned, confused. Had he seen ghosts before? Sherlock knew that answer. Of course he had.

"No."

With that, John stepped forward and punched Sherlock squarely in the jaw so hard that he saw stars. He stumbled backwards, clutching his face. The glass dropped to the floor again. This time it shattered. "Oh, honestly? What a waste of a glass."

John hit him again, this time from the other direction, knocking him soundly and deservedly on the chin.

"Where have you BEEN? You right bastard! Do you KNOW what I've GONE through?! What hell I've been through? How DARE YOU!" John steamed like a dragon and he was going to tear Sherlock limb from limb. "I'm going to kill you."

"Don't be silly," Sherlock clutched his face. "You won't do that. We both know that." He leaned up against the molding that formed the beginning of the kitchen, breathing heavily through the rather shocking pain. When he glanced up he saw Mary in the doorway of his bedroom, watching him in nothing but her tank top, panties, and socks.

"John, darling, are you okay? What's happening?" She called, her eyes squarely on Sherlock. "Did you break something?"

"I'm sorry, Mary. I didn't meant to wake you," John pinched his nose as he closed his eyes, breathing slowly and carefully. "Don't come in. I broke a glass."

She continued to watch Holmes, her expression serious as she spoke, "I thought I heard another voice. Are you fighting with someone or is it the telly?"

"No, there is someone here. Uh, I'll explain it later. Go back to sleep, I've got it," John called. It was the tone he used when he was trying not to be a bother.

She slipped back into her room but reappeared in her shorts and her green converse shoes, "here, let me help you pick up the glass at least," she said, not even bothering to look at Sherlock now that she was in the room with John. She went to the closet and fetched the broom. Together, like a silent dance, the two picked up the glass. When Mary put the broom away she came back up to John, placing a hand on his cheek.

His pupils dilated and he exhaled softly at her touch. She smiled at him sweetly, naturally. Mutual attraction, neither had acted on it more than simple touches. They were comfortable in each other's personal space though. Curious. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm sorry for waking you," he looked up at Sherlock. His lip was bleeding. "Um, this is..."

Mary didn't look at Holmes still, her eyes still on John. "I know."

With that, she hugged him, whispering in his ear as she did. He just nodded several times, allowing himself to be hugged. When she pulled back she placed a simple and light kiss on his forehead, having to reach up on her tip toes to do so.

She whispered something else into his ear and turned from Watson, walking directly up to Sherlock. "You upset him, I'll make you wish you had died."

"I'll consider myself warned," Sherlock replied back sarcastically dry. He slipped the five into her pocket as she passed. John didn't notice, but Mary did. She just sighed as she went back to her bedroom.

**I'm on tumblr, the link is on my profile. Let me know what you think. Trying something new. Want to stretch my writing legs again. **


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